


Undertow

by Lindzzz



Category: Original Work
Genre: AO3 has a tag for original work im ROLLIN WITH IT, F/F, Fantasy, Gaslighting, Gore, Horror, Mind Control, Warped Reality, best way to describe this mess tbh, queer mermaid horror
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-20
Updated: 2017-07-20
Packaged: 2018-12-04 11:16:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11554062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lindzzz/pseuds/Lindzzz
Summary: In your dreams, you drown to the sweetest music.





	Undertow

**Author's Note:**

> This story has been stuck in my head for YEARS now (there is old art, there are playlists, you know those original stories that just keep hanging around in your head?). And I figured it was in my "keep talking about writing but wont write" pile until I was sent a commission by a friend who just told me to write whatever the heck I wanted to.
> 
> So I decided to finally write this thing.
> 
> EDIT: im real kinda legit mad at myself that I didnt even think to have her use sign language holy shit
> 
> I honestly dont expect much attention for original short stories on here I mainly just want a more permanent residence than tumblr for it,
> 
> (Fics are not abandoned! As shown by the fact that this was TECHNICALLY a commission, life is...a lot rn. Though one incredibly sweet fan commissioned and then demanded the next chapter of Studies. Which makes me feel both very flattered and very called out at once lmfao)

You’re not really sure how you ended up living with someone like Merona.  
  
Not...not living with like _that_. She’s a roommate. Just another millennial housing situation. But still, it seems like an odd dream. People like Merona shouldn’t exist in the first place, much less share a small apartment to help pay bills, much less with someone like you.  
  
How did it happen again?   
  
You don’t think of it too often really. Why would you? Most people don’t dwell on how they met up with their roommates. But it’s been a slow weekend, one of those where you’re sitting on the couch with leggings that you put on yesterday, flipping around on Netflix without anything catching your interest. It’s the quiet sort of moment where your mind starts wandering.  
  
How did you get here?  
  
You met her at Mobula, one of the latest trendy bars where everything was decorated in deep greens and blues and blacks with faux-vintage naturalist prints everywhere. It’s a nice enough place that supports local musicians and is quiet enough to not set your teeth on edge while still being queer friendly. The details of the bar come to you more easily than the details of your meeting. She was singing that night, a dainty woman taking up the entire stage, hand curled lovingly around the microphone.   
  
Did you meet her before or after she sang? The rapid beat of your fingertips nervously tapping at the side of your laptop bring you back to the present for a bit. You don’t remember. You think you remember what she sang. Or how it felt. It was like she was reaching out to you and only you, sweet and low and dragging you down to a calm depth of your mind.  
  
What genre of music was it?  
  
It worries you more than it should. It shouldn’t worry you, right? Does it matter, really? You met her, you nearly fell over your own feet when she smiled at you, and then you ended up with her living in your space. That’s enough of a problem without obsessing over the why and how.  
  
A buzz against your calf scares you out of your wits enough to make you forget the matter entirely, and after a moment of mad scrambling you check the phone.  
  
-You’ve been staring at the browse screen for fifteen minutes you know-  
  
“Oh, sorry. Can’t focus on anything. Or I guess I can focus? Just not on this.” The light, airy laugh makes you look over at where she’s perched in front of her own computer at the breakfast bar, looking at you with her chin resting on a tiny fist. “Hey do you remember how we met?”  
  
Part of you wants to know, but you mostly want an excuse to keep looking at her.  
  
Merona looks like someone got every Disney artist in a room, made them design the perfect princess, then used some dark arts to bring her to life. She’s a petite thing, with faintly freckled skin, delicate limbs and an effortless grace that makes every movement look like a sculptor posed her. You’ve never seen her put on makeup, but her heart shaped lips always seem coral-pink and there’s always a pink glow to her high cheekbones. She tilts her head, impossibly thick golden hair flowing over her perfectly curved shoulder to her waist as she watches you with bright eyes.   
  
You’ve seen pictures of tropical water that seemed too clear of a blue-green color, and her eyes remind you of them constantly.  
  
That’s the problem with her, you think. She has too much color in her. Merona has that saturated pigment that you only see in hyper-realistic paintings, only she lives and breathes and makes everything around her look strange and washed out.  
  
After a moment, her lips twitch in a smile she picks up her phone and types away at it. Sure enough, yours pings.  
  
-At the club wasn’t it? Why are you thinking about that? Does it matter?-  
  
Expressive aphasia, she said it was. A nasty fall as a child left her able to understand people perfectly, but she can’t make speech happen. Singing is apparently different, somehow. She explained that she just mimics the sounds of the lyrics until it seems right, but she doesn’t really know what she’s singing. You’re no neurologist so you figure that sounds about right. She holds the screen of her phone up to people until she has a phone number to work with. These days you can do pretty well just by her facial expressions until she has a more complex thought she puts to text.  
  
“No. I guess not. It doesn’t. Not really. Don’t worry about it. You excited for your date tonight?”  
  
Self torture is a grand thing.   
  
Merona shrugs, gliding her hand back through her hair with a perfect little grimace. She’s gone on several dates and seems to have a liking for large, well muscled men, but they never work out. Or at least they never call her back. Probably intimidated, fuck knows you are.  
  
Her pattern of burly men is what keeps you from saying anything about making it That Kind of living together. It’s a handy excuse to keep quiet at least, never let it be said that you’re not self aware of how much of a chickenshit you are.   
  
You may have height going for you, but being around her just makes you hyper-aware of the long bony limbs that you can’t really manage to control. You got stuck permanently looking like a teen boy who never settled into his limbs after puberty, didn’t get the right curves to pull off being an androgynous girl, and missed the right delicate face shape to pull off that waifish androgyny that is popular. Not to mention that waifish androgyny models tend to be a pale and graceful, and you are neither of these.  
  
So, in any case. You aren’t her type. She’s everyone’s type and goes on dates a lot, but you can say that you’re the one who gets to see and talk to her every day. That’s a comfort, right?  
  
“You wanna watch something until then?” You ask, heart pounding with both excitement and dread when she smiles and stands up. When she settles like a cat next to you, legs tucked up and brushing against yours, you savor the odd mix of feeling both sick and elated.   
  
You don’t remember what it was you watched, because you’re imagining reaching across and running your fingers through her hair, having her head on your chest and legs tangled together.  
  
\--------  
  
“How did it go with Chad?”  
  
Merona raises her eyebrow at you, because you call every guy she goes out with “Chad.” You haven’t gotten her onto the couch with you since last time, and you’re trying not to get bitter that she keeps going out every other night, changing the man weekly.  
  
“Oh sorry, was it Brett?” You ask with a grin, which grows wider when she sniffs primly and glides past you into the kitchen. She’s wearing some sort of long flowing dress with sheer bits here and there and flowers embroidered down the long back. She likes things like that, and often looks like she’s floating as she moves.   
  
“I was about to make some stir fry, you want some?”  
  
She shakes her head and pats her stomach to indicate she already ate, pulling the water pitcher from the fridge.  
  
“Oh right. Dates. Dinner. That’s normal. I’m an idiot. Did it go well then? Think you’ll keep seeing him?”  
  
Shrugging, she makes a face before chugging down a glass in nearly one swallow. Thinking for a moment, she pulls out her phone.  
  
-He got spooked at the end. I guess I came on too strong.-  
  
“Oh.” You try to imagine what too strong looks like on Merona. She’s always poised, faintly smiling and perfectly collected. Fuck you want to see what too strong looks like for her. “Well he’s an idiot then.”  
  
-You mind if I stay here while you cook?-  
__  
_‘Stay by me as long as you like, forever.’_ You think, then just grin, hoping you don’t look too eager.  
  
“Not a bit! You know I don’t mind the company.”  
  
Her smile is warm and gentle, melting away all the nervous tension in your spine. On her way to the breakfast bar she pauses, reaching up to brush back a curl of your short hair. She has to stand on the balls of her feet to reach up. You can’t do anything but fucking stare down at her and stop breathing when she smiles at you. Her palm slides down the side of your face as she steps away, sitting and sipping her water like nothing out of the ordinary happened.  
  
You’re a self aware fucking chickenshit coward, so you don’t say anything, but you keep dropping bowls and utensils and ingredients.  
  
\-------------------------------  
  
When you finally get sick of pining for months, it’s surprisingly easy to fall back into dating.  
  
Ellie is small, everyone is next to you, and she’s bright and cheerful and makes you laugh. She’s round and soft, with dark curls of hair and darker eyes that are always lighting up with a joke or one liner that she’ll deliver with her arms hooked in the crook of your elbow and a lean against your side. You’re not in love with her, not with Merona still _existing_ , but you think you could be eventually.  
  
When you two stumble into the apartment, you’re laughing so hard at Ellie’s frustration trying to reach up and kiss you that you forget for just a moment that you don’t live alone.  
  
“Listen you stupid bean pole you get your cute fuckin face down here or I’ll take your knees ou- oh! Hi!” Ellie freezes, still half pressed up against you with her arms reaching up to try and hook onto the back of your neck, and ice goes down your spine. You hope it isn’t too obvious.   
  
You look over your shoulder, and Merona is standing by the bathroom, a satiny pale blue robe draped and tied around her, staring blankly at the two of you.  
  
“Oh. Crap. Sorry Merona I should have let you know we were on our way. That I was bringing- I mean-”  
  
Are her eyes darker than usual? You shouldn’t be staring so much at her eyes with Ellie’s arm around you.  
  
“That is-” Ellie’s hand slides up and down your back soothingly, and you focus on that and regain some sense over the mounting panic. “I- this is Ellie! Ellie, this is Merona, my roommate.”  
  
Ellie smiles brightly, waving with a happy hello. Merona’s lips twitch into a faint and sharp smile, the shadows of the darkly lit room making her eyes look nearly black. Your innards squirm with guilt, and you’re almost angry because you have no damn reason to feel bad about this.  
  
Later, you take Ellie back to her house, unable to settle comfortably at the apartment. You find a good enough reason to go back home alone after that, trying to figure out the twisting in your gut and fighting the need to apologize to Merona. She’s locked in her own room when you arrive, and you’re not sure if you’re relieved or not.  
  
\--------  
  
You don’t sleep well that night.  
  
Or you sleep too well?  
  
There’s a state, where you aren’t quite asleep yet but have started to dream. Hypno-something? Hypnagogia. That was it. When you’re aware enough to know what hypnagogia is and remember it, but you also hear waves crashing against each other and feel the bed rocking gently. Your body is paralyzed and heavy with the start of sleep but you think you can see the moon falling on golden hair and feel a hand brushing against your cheek.  
  
There’s music from somewhere. Low and fluid, so sweet and haunting that it makes your chest ache. The song wraps around you, as comforting and enveloping as your favorite blanket on a cold day. Something about it worms into your soul, seeping in and shifting things around it, the sweetness spreading and leaving notes sparking in your mind.  
  
You taste salt on your lips, and breathe in the sweetest water, filling your lungs before sleep takes you fully.  
  
\------------  
  
Ellie’s laugh starts sounding like a grating shriek. Like nails scraping down your mind. Maybe it was her cute smile that distracted you before? Or the plump softness of her curves that made you think her jokes and quips were clever or funny?  
  
-By yourself this weekend?-  
  
You shift on the couch and huff out a sigh, glancing from your phone over at Merona where she sits curled on the lounger with a book.  
  
“Yeah. I guess. I don’t know. I’m thinking…I’m thinking of breaking it off with Ellie I guess.”  
  
Merona shuts the book, lips pouted and eyes wide with concern. They’re bright and clear as a Caribbean sea under a full sun.  
  
“Oh no- no it’s nothing that bad.” You wave a hand, and she tilts her head. “Or I guess it is bad? I guess it’s bad if I want to break up with her. I don’t know. I’m just not feeling it you know?”  
  
The concern melts into a sweet smile of sympathy and understanding. When she moves over to settle up by you on the couch, the irritated fuzziness in your head clears away like a cloud.  
  
“I was about to put on some Arrested Development, wanna watch with me?”  
  
She blinks at you, eyebows up and mouth twisted oddly. You don’t know if it’s a smile or a grimace, but there’s a tense furrow to her forehead when she pulls her phone out and holds up what she types for you to read.  
  
-You know you’ve watched the same episode three times already today right? It’s still up.-  
  
“What? No I was only just now thinking of-” It’s then that you notice the sound coming from your laptop, and you look over to see it fifteen minutes deep into an episode.  
  
When did…  
  
Your heart squeezes tight in your chest, and you close your hands into fists to stop the shaking.  
  
“I thought...I don’t remember opening that up. I don’t remember it. Why don’t I remember watching this?”  
  
Her hand is small and warm through your hair, and you find yourself tilting towards it, grounded just when your breath was starting to push hard at your lungs.  
  
“Sorry,” You whisper, and you’re falling, falling until your head is resting on her lap. “I guess I haven’t been sleeping too well lately…”  
  
She hums, the tune soft and slow, lulling you down into the dark depths of sleep.  
  
\------------  
  
The crashing and wet thud wakes you up.   
  
“M’rona?”   
  
Nothing. Must have been dreaming, you think. Still, you could use a drink of water now that you’re awake.  
  
Was there a reason, you wonder, bare feet tripping briefly on the rug as you shuffle your way blearily to the bathroom, that you often wake up with your mouth dry as a desert? It seemed to happen whether or not you fall asleep before having a drink or not. Bodies are weird.  
  
You have the door open before you realize the light is already on. Then you’re fully awake.  
  
Fluorescent sharp lighting flickers, setting blood red in a surreal contrast on white tiles. There’s a violent spray along the shower wall, vivid crimson and still dripping down to follow the lines of grout between tiles in a horrid square pattern of red.  
  
The streaks and thick globbing drips lead down into a pool of dark, nearly black red in the tub. The man in it is dead, throat ripped from his sturdy, thick neck. One arm is significantly smaller than the other, and you realize with a sick heave in your stomach that all the flesh has been taken off of it.  
  
Merona’s head whips around, thick blond hair dipped red at the ends. She’s perched on the rim of the tub, arms and bare torso streaked with red, her ribs standing out strangely, as if they’re outside her body. It takes a moment to realize that they’re not ribs, but flaps of skin sealed tight against her sides.  
  
Her legs…  
  
A sinuous, deep blue tail flashes in the hard light, wet and twisted where it’s curled under her to the tiled bathroom floor. There’s old healed tears on the wide fins at the end, and bloody splashes looking black on a blue that fades into the pink of her skin.  
  
Your own legs shake, knees weak, and she stares at you with wide eyes that black as a pit. Black as the abyss, deep and squeezing and crushing.  
  
“No- Merona? What-?”  
  
It’s a dream. It’s an awful dream. But dreams don’t have smells, and the smell of blood and meat and viscera and briny salt hits you at once, making your stomach heave again.  
  
You stare into the eyes of a predator, and when she moves, you go on an instinct that’s bone deep.  
  
The doorway crashes into your shoulder when you turn to run, but you don’t let it stop you. The pain of it thuds dully for a moment but the terror is stronger.  
  
There are no thoughts. No ideas.  
  
Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. Run. _Run. Run!_ **_Run!_**

  
The music is soft. Wordless notes drift to you, wrap around and wind inside your skull. Your legs are heavy, stumbling and thick under you, throwing you down in the living room.   
  
Her footsteps are soft and steady behind you, padding on the bare wood floor.   
  
“No- no no get away stay away from me!”   
  
Your arms pull you along, fingers clawing at the couch to pull you closer to the front door. Her song is steady and deep, rocking and flowing, ancient and terrible.    
  
Grab the couch. Pull. Grab the edge of the carpet. Grab it. Grab it-   
  
You’re lying on your side, reaching out blind and weak towards the door, your breath fast and hard as if you’re still running.   
  
She kneels by you with her two legs, wrapped in her favorite satin robe, red still smeared around her mouth as she looks down at you with a gentle pity. You look into eyes that pull you into black depths, and your lungs catch and sob with the terror. People don’t belong in the abyss. You’ll drown.    
  
“Don’t-”   
  
The song coils around you, her hand rests on your cheek soothingly, and you drown.   
  
\---   
  
Water splashes onto your hand, and you jump, nearly sending it all down your front.   
  
For a moment you stare at the cup held under the bathroom sink, still overflowing steadily down your fingers in the hard light.    
  
Did you sleep walk? You never had a history of sleepwalking before. There’s a dread, a tight clench in your chest, and you’re still frowning down at the cup as the pressure mounts and mounts silently in you.   
  
Run. You need to run.   
  
Why?   
  
Run.   
  
Your shoulder throbs with pain, you must have slept on it weird, though it feels more like someone hit it with a hammer.   
  
Run.   
  
A small, perfectly manicured hand reaches over and shuts the sink off, then rests over yours around the cup. You look over at Merona, who smiles up at you with a questioning tilt of her eyebrows. Her hair is in a thick braid for sleep, draped over a satin-clad shoulder.   
  
“Oh, sorry.” You whisper, voice rough. “Did I wake you up?”   
  
She shakes her head, eyes bright and clear and beautiful. She reaches up, and you think you must be dreaming. Except in dreams you never smelled her so clearly, never felt her hand so solid and steady on the back of your neck when it pulls you down gently, her lips had never been so warm and steady and solid on yours.   
  
The cup drops into the sink, and your hand is still wet when it presses to her waist and pulls her closer. She kisses you. She kisses you and you see nothing in the world but her.   
  
You don’t even see the man in the tub, his blood only just starting to cool.   
  
  



End file.
